


anger is an acid (abused patience turns to fury)  (Game Ogre)

by MadHare0512



Series: fantasy seems to have become reality (love is the only reality and it is not a mere sentiment) [8]
Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Ambushes and Sneak Attacks, Anger, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Beating, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s01e08 Game Ogre, F/M, Hospitals, Loss of Limbs, M/M, Medical Procedures, Multi, Police Proceedings, Polyamorous Character, Polyamory, Protective Hank Griffin, Protectiveness, The Author Regrets Nothing, altered timeline, protective Monroe, protective Rosalee Calvert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:42:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28204056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadHare0512/pseuds/MadHare0512
Summary: Despite what others may tell you, anger is not a strength. Anger is a fuel that burns quickly. Anger is more harmful than emotional vulnerability to a person. At least when being emotionally vulnerable, especially with others, the only thing you have to fear is rejection. With anger, you have to fear losing your life.One may assume that anger is all negative. It is not. Anger can also indicate passion and love. For example, loving parents must punish their children for the children to grow as people. The issue comes when the anger goes unchecked. It evolves into things that are better left unsaid. Anger isn't healthy when bottled up either, causing one to lash out to get rid of it. That being said, simply be wary of your anger. Don't let it reign free or stay too tightly reigned in.Remember that anger is not a strength, but it is not a weakness either."Fee fi fo fum... I smell the blood of an Englishman."
Relationships: Nick Burkhardt & Hank Griffin, Nick Burkhardt & Rosalee Calvert & Monroe (Grimm), Nick Burkhardt/Monroe, Nick Burkhardt/Rosalee Calvert, Nick Burkhardt/Rosalee Calvert/Monroe, Rosalee Calvert/Monroe
Series: fantasy seems to have become reality (love is the only reality and it is not a mere sentiment) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1617997
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	anger is an acid (abused patience turns to fury)  (Game Ogre)

anger is an acid (abused patience turns to fury)  
(Game Ogre)

By: AndiKaneUnderwood

**AU: Canon Divergence, Altered Timeline.**

Despite what others may tell you, anger is not a strength. Anger is a fuel that burns quickly. Anger is more harmful than emotional vulnerability to a person. At least when being emotionally vulnerable, especially with others, the only thing you have to fear is rejection. With anger, you have to fear losing your life.

One may assume that anger is all negative. It is not. Anger can also indicate passion and love. For example, loving parents must punish their children for the children to grow as people. The issue comes when the anger goes unchecked. It evolves into things that are better left unsaid. Anger isn't healthy when bottled up either, causing one to lash out to get rid of it. That being said, simply be wary of your anger. Don't let it reign free or stay too tightly reigned in.

Remember that anger is not a _strength_ , but it is not a _weakness_ either.

_Grimm~Grimm~Grimm_

_"Fee fi fo fum... I smell the blood of an Englishman."_

The garage door opened just in time for Judge Patterson to pull his car inside. He shut off the engine, climbed out of the car, and grabbed his papers as he did every night. He had much work to be done that couldn't be done at the office. As he headed towards his house, a cracking sound, like twigs underfoot, caught his attention. As he twisted around to see what it was, he continued walking back towards his door. When he found nothing, he turned back and continued to his door, a little more speed in his step.

He reached up and unlocked the door with one hand, opening it with the other. He walked in, closed the door, and locked it back, stepping over to his alarm to rearm it from where he walked inside.

Outside, a figure stepped up to the house, watching it intensely. A low growl rose from under the figure's breath.

Judge Patterson continued his work in his study, knowing it would be a long night. He heard the cracking sound again, sighing as he looked up from his work. It sounded almost like it was inside the house. That was far scarier to him than hearing it outside. He dismissed the idea, however, trusting his alarm that hadn't gone off to alert him to any intruders.

The cracking came again, louder this time, and the Judge looked up in annoyance. He sighed again, putting his pen back in its holder and turning out his light before going to investigate the noise. He was just reaching over to turn out his lamp when the window next to him exploded inwards and he was thrown across the room.

He struggled to get back on his feet, staring up at the face of a man he wasn't familiar with. Judge Patterson stumbled to his feet and lunged for the small statue. He took a swing but the attacker grabbed his hand and punched him, sending him flying again. He limped around his desk and yanked open the drawer. He pulled out the gun and aimed it at the man. Firing off a single shot, Judge Patterson had one fleeting moment of hope before the gun was smacked out of his hand.

Pain bloomed across his face as blood poured from the newly placed scratches on his cheeks. He lunged forward again but was stopped once more. He wasn't sure what happened next. At one point he had a plate and swung it, but the attacker dodged and grabbed his throat.

He was thrown and his vision whited out. He was grabbed again, punched across the face. He landed in the hallway. As his attacker came back, he finally recognized Oleg Stark.

Stark looked at him, Judge Patterson tried to speak but was unable. There was a pain in his head and throat, then nothing.

_Grimm~Grimm~Grimm_

"Damn shame for him to die like this," Hank sighed as the CSI removed the gavel from the victim's throat.

"What time did you enter the house?" Nick asking Wu and his partner, Officer Messina.

"10:22 pm," Wu read from his notes, "The alarm went off at 10:13."

"Gives us a good estimate on time of death," Hank added.

"Any witnesses?" Nick asked.

Wu shook his head, "Nobody's come forward. We talked to neighbors on _both_ sides and across the street. Nobody heard anything."

"What about a wife, children? Did anybody live with him?" Hank's head was tilted, voice curious.

"Judge lived alone, his wife died three years ago. No kids." Wu gestured to a spot a few steps away. "Found a gun on the floor over here. We haven't touched it. Walther .32, we ran the serial number, it belonged to the Judge. He purchased it in 1995, had a license to carry it."

Nick stepped over to take a closer look.

"We find any casings?" Hank questioned.

Wu nodded, "One, under the chair." He pointed over to the mentioned chair.

Hank glanced over then nodded, "Well, at least he got off one shot."

Nick, however, was thinking over something else. "You find the bullet?"

"Nothing in the walls or ceiling," Wu replied. "Windows are intact, so unless it went out the door..."

"Our killed might've been hit," Nick finished.

"Any blood trails?" Hank continued the idea.

"Plenty of blood, but it's all around the judge," Wu informed them.

Nick nodded, "If our perp took a shot, he'd need medical attention. Let's get an APB out to all the hospitals, clinics-"

"Also, tap the snitches for any surgeons working off the grid," Hank interjected.

"On it," Wu headed out with his partner on his heels.

Renard sighed as he walked up to the body, "Unbelievable. This is gonna make a lot of people angry."

"I think this was more than just a random act of violence," Nick said.

"Yeah," Hank agreed. "There's a lot easier ways to kill somebody without shoving a gavel down their throat."

Renard crouched down next to the body, "Patterson was one of the best judges we had. Worked a lot of cases that ended up in his court." He had, uh," Renard thought for a moment, "Over 30 years on the bench."

"We requested all of the judge's case files." Nick watched Renard pay quick respects to the dead man. It surprised him a bit because he'd never seen Renard do that, but he'd also never seen the Captain at a crime scene, so perhaps it was a common thing for the Captain.

"Start with the most recent, see if there were any registered threats." Renard stood, "I'm sure he made a lot of enemies in his years."

"Sir, we have a print off of the gavel." Most of the CSIs were terrified of the Captain, but not Benny. Benny had dealt with far more than an intimidating police captain.

Nick privately thought that was why Renard respected Benny more than he did other CSIs.

Renard glanced at Nick and Hank, then nodded. "Let's find out who it belongs to."

 _(Across town, Oleg Stark stood near a riverbank. He griped a severed hand between his and reared back, throwing it into the river with as much strength as he could. The hand went soaring and landed before sinking into the depths of the river Stark stood before. Oleg watched it sink feeling accomplished. Three down, only one more to go._ )

_Grimm~Grimm~Grimm_

"Any luck?" Renard asked as he headed back to the detective's desk the next morning.

Hank lifted his head from his hands and shook it, "Nah, nothing to write home about yet. We've been doing a cross-check on the judge's cases against any recent parolees. So far we've got three released in the last six months." He handed Renard the file on the file cabinet between his and Nick's desks. "Lester Cambridge paroled from Powder River. Scott Teller, released from Santiam six weeks ago. Jamal Shutter, he just got out of eastern."

"Any of them back in Portland?" Renard questioned.

"All three of them. Nick's checking alibis." Hank's phone rang and he leaned over to pick it up. "Griffin," he said into the receiver. "I'm at my computer, send it through. Thanks." There were several clicks as he brought up the information he'd received. "Got an I.D. on the print from the judge's house. Got a match from the Navy."

"One of your parolees?" Renard leaned his weight on his hands, getting closer to get a better look.

"Nope. His name's Vince Chilton. Got no record at all."

"See if we can get a match on a driver's license."

Hank did so, clicking getting a bit speedier as he did. "He renewed it two months ago. Got an address here in Portland."

"Alright, let's go," Renard headed off.

Hank followed, snagging his jacket off the back of his chairs as he followed close at Renard's heels. They got to the house and let the S.W.A.T. officers take over. The pair hung back as the leader, Officer Christopher Baggerly, directed his team about. S.W.A.T. breached the room, rushing in with calls of "Portland P.D." and "Police! If you're in here make yourself known!" Hank and Renard waited by the door as S.W.A.T. cleared the area, calling to each other from different parts of the apartment.

Finally, Sargent Baggerly came to meet them at the door, "We're clear. We've secured the premises, but you've got a body in there."

Upon approaching the body, the smell hit Hank first, "Whew, man."

The body itself had obviously been there for a bit. The dried blood staining the carpet and pallor of the skin stated that clearly. What was more interesting was the body was missing its right hand. The blood pool around the body had long dried, now just staining and stiffening the carpet. The cut wasn't clean, not done professionally at all. The bone and muscle seen through the severed wound were choppy and bloody.

Hank wanted to throw up then and there.

"Vince Chilton?" Renard asked.

Hank held out the picture next to the body, comparing the two. The body's face was bloody and bruised, but still. "Looks like," Hank answered.

Renard shined his flashlight down to the hands. "Which hand did the fingerprint come from?"

"The one he doesn't have," Hank replied mildly.

"So, our killer needed a helping hand and got it from Chilton," Renard surmised.

"Yeah, he wanted us to find him."

"Means our killer's connected to both of them."

Hank swiped his light over the victim's wrist. The watch placed there glittered in the light. "Woman's watch? Wearing it backside out. Looks pretty old, antique maybe."

"Doesn't seem like Chilton would be the kind of guy interested in women's antique watches, huh?" Renard asked.

"It's engraved: 'To Mary, Love Mom'," Hank noticed. "It's definitely not Chilton's."

Renard agreed, "Yeah, we need to find Mary."

"Let's hope Mary's not connected to this," Hank added.

"Maybe we can trace the watch," the other man wondered.

Hank nodded, then backed away to let the CSI guys bag everything up. He and Renard headed back to the precinct.

_Grimm~Grimm~Grimm_

Hank was coming back to his desk when Nick looked up. He held an evidence bag with a watch in it, prompting Nick to ask where he'd been.

"Just came back from a crime scene. Renard went with me while you were checking alibis." Hank flipped the evidence bag over to look over the other side. Out loud, he wondered, "Renard mentioned tracing the watch. What do you think?"

Nick couldn't help but laugh. When Hank looked at him quizzically, Nick smirked. "You're lucky I know one of the best clockmakers," he waved for Hank to follow as he stood and grabbed his jacket. "Come on, I'll call him."

Hank rushed after Nick, yelling after him not to touch anything. Nick laughed, knowing he would never. They were driving Hank's car today and the other man would be damned before he let Nick drive it, stating that Nick was a terrible driver **(1)**. Nick chuckled and gave him the address and directions, dialing the familiar number as he slid into the passenger seat. Hank raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like you go there often, you know how to get there that easily"

"I should know how to get there that easily, it is my home," Nick replied brightly.

Hank did a double-take, nearly slamming on the brakes. "It's your _what_?"

Nick laughed, answering the phone's beeping and the person's hello, "Hey, it's me."

" _You do remember I have caller ID, Nicky?"_ Monroe questioned teasingly.

Yes, I know you have a caller ID. It's for a case, can you trace an antique watch?" he paused for a moment, letting Monroe reply.

" _Wow, you're actually calling me for my job. I should charge you._ "

"We found it on our murder victim. I'm with my partner, we're coming now."

Monroe's grin was easily heard, " _Oh, I get it. Be cool, wear pants._ "

Nick smiled, a warm feeling in his chest as opposed to the normal cold he always felt. "Pants would be nice, yes. Okay, see you in a bit. Love you."

Hank raised an eyebrow but didn't comment. Nick was curious for all of a minute before he remembered that he hadn't told Hank the 'clockmaker' was his boyfriend. They arrived shortly after and the tension melted off of Nick's shoulders as he pulled out his keys and let himself in. "We're here!" he called, looking around.

"In the kitchen, Nicky!" called back a very male voice. Nick knew this wouldn't be a problem. Nick had told Hank about Monroe and Rosalee on a long stakeout one night. He figured Hank should know so he could switch partners if he wanted. Hank had told him that he never really cared; if Nick was happy with them, then Hank was happy for him. Monroe approached Nick with a smile, drawing him into a side-hug, which was happily returned, and then extending a hand to Hank, "Good morning. Though not so good when someone died, I suppose. You must be Hank. Nick never stops talking about his partner."

"That's me. You're Monroe, right? He never stops talking about you or Rosalee either." Hank gave him an easygoing grin.

Monroe glanced at Nick, "Coffee's done, Nicky, I know you didn't get any this morning with the way you tore out of here in a hurry. On the counter."

Nick's eyes lit up, "You're a Godsend, Monroe," he said seriously, then rushed into the kitchen.

He could hear Monroe and Hank in the front room, discussing the details of the watch.

"Love the kid, but his caffeine addiction is insatiable. Now, where's this watch I'm looking at?"

"Does he drink coffee at home as much as he does at work?"

Monroe sounded half distracted. "He doesn't drink that much coffee. He hates waking up early, so I usually make him a cup before he goes to work. The rest of the time, it's tea, water, or juice. He drinks tea because it has just as much caffeine, he drinks water and juice because they give you more energy. I just didn't get to make him anything this morning, he left in such a hurry."

Monroe was murmuring to himself, "Vintage Lusina, very nice." He raised a hand, "I'm gonna have to get in there and check a few details. You mind if I...?"

"Forensics cleared it, you're good to go," Hank replied. Monroe was lost to his mind after that.

Nick emerged from the kitchen, holding his blue mug with a hand-painted police badge on it. The cup steamed with the heat of the liquid inside it, but Nick was unbothered, holding the cup with both hands and drinking it like it was the last source of water anywhere on the planet. He and Hank waited patiently while Monroe looked over the watch, putting on glasses and sitting at the table he worked on his clocks at. He told them a few facts about the watch that Hank clearly didn't find interesting given the way he was lost in thought, but Nick hummed at in between drinks of his coffee.

Hank visibly startled from his thoughts as Monroe spoke up, "Valjoux movement. 72 c, to be exact." the older male squinted at the watch, glasses reflecting the light on the desk. "Triple calendar. Wow," Monroe murmured. "Just pure beauty."

Hank glanced at Nick, caught Nick's gaze, and shooting a glance at Monroe, raising an eyebrow to complete the question, _Is he always like that?_

Nick nodded, jokingly rolling his eyes, _Always._ Nick wasn't truly annoyed, he never really was. Sure, it was a bit of a hassle when Nick had to be out the door in a few minutes and all he wanted to do was listen to Monroe go on about an antique clock he'd fixed, but such was life when one was in love.

Monroe came over, holding out the watch, "Here, check it out." He pointed out a little piece and Nick watched with careful eyes, "Triple complications. That's day, date, and month to the layman. It was probably made in the '30s." Monroe sat back down, going back to pouring over the details of the watch.

Nick stepped closer with a hum, "What about the engraving?"

"Professional. Could've been done by any engraver, anytime, anywhere." Monroe took the back off of the watch to look at the gears, setting both the back and the battery on the desk. "Oh, this is tragic."

"What?" Nick asked, immediately on alert. He knew that tone, it meant something had happened either personally or professionally.

Monroe turned the watch under the light. "Some jerk put glue in the movement. This watch is destroyed. I wanna weep."

Hank tilted his head, "Why would someone do that?"

"To stop it from working." Monroe's rasp spoke of an angry growl that he refused to let loose. Nick thought he saw a flash of crimson, but he wasn't sure.

Nick's mind spun, "Maybe they wanted to stop it on a specific time and date."

"Glue would certainly guarantee that." Monroe huffed, turning the watch to look at the time and date. "10:15, March 11th."

Nick nodded, setting his mug on the table far away from clock components, "Any way you could tell us who the owner is?"

"Original movement number maybe... or a service mark. I'll make some calls. Whoever serviced this will definitely remember it."

"How long will that take?" Hank asked.

"A couple of minutes if they've got all the paperwork. There's still coffee in the kitchen, help yourself. Nick knows where it is." Monroe grabbed his phone and dialed a number.

Nick hummed, "Thank you, 'Roe. C'mon Hank, Monroe makes the best coffee." He led the way to the kitchen, Hank followed quickly.

"He's a little weird, isn't he?" Hank asked.

Nick reached for a spare mug, standing on the balls of his feet just a bit, and pulled down a white and black checkered one, "Spends his life fixing clocks. Other hobbies include cello and consulting work for the precinct. He's also at Rosalee's spice-shop sometimes, helping out there."

Hank leaned against the corner as Nick poured Hank some coffee and handed it over, "You think March 11th has something to do with Vince Chilton?"

"Maybe, or the Judge," Nick replied.

"What about Mary, the name on the watch?"

"Maybe March 11th connects all three of them somehow." Nick tilted his head as the gears in his mind mulled over the idea.

"Maybe all four of them, killer included. But March 11th of what year?" Hank wondered.

"Maybe we're looking at some kind of zodiac killer here."

"Hey, I've got something, actually." Monroe came rushing in, "Turns out, the watch was first purchased in 1933 by a Steven Armstrong- he gave it to his wife as a wedding present. She-"

"1933? Who owns it now?" Hank interrupted.

"Yeah, but I've got the whole history." Monroe protested.

"And that's great, really, but we just need to know who owns it now," Nick replied gently. Don't get him wrong, he'd love to stand with Monroe and discuss the watch's history all day, but he had a case to close. He'd listen to the history tonight, Monroe would appreciate that.

"Oh," Monroe realized. "I get it, okay. Just the facts, right? Okay," Monroe glanced back down at the paper. "Let's see, the watch was last serviced last here in Portland, actually, two months ago. For Mary Robinson." Nick glanced over at Hank as his partner came to a startling realization then and they had to get to Mary then and there.

Nick rushed after him, setting his mug by the sink and grabbing the evidence bag Monroe held out to him. "Thanks, 'Roe. See you at dinner, love you!"

"Love you too!" Monroe called after him.

They raced to Mary Robinson's house, breaking several speeding laws to get there. (Not that it mattered with their sirens on and lights flashing.) Their backup had already arrived by the time Nick and Hank got there. Wu stood on the porch waiting for them.

"Did you find her?" Hank asked.

"We found her body," Wu replied.

Nick glanced back at Hank as they headed inside. For a moment, Nick swore he felt eyes on him, but he shook it off as they stepped inside. The first thing Nick noticed about this body was the blood dried around her mouth, upon glancing at the scales on her desk, he saw why.

"The killer cut out her tongue," Wu explained as they stared in horror at the beaten body with bruises and cuts littering the visible skin. "And put it on the scale."

Nick felt revulsion bite at his spine and churn in his stomach as he stepped closer. "What's the message this time?" He looked back at Hank, "Scales of justice?"

Hank stared at Mary, horrified at her state of being. "No," he murmured. "She's the message. Mary Robinson herself." Hank sniffed, then nodded, "I know who the killer is."

_Grimm~Grimm~Grimm_

"It was a triple homicide, five years ago. Jack Lambert, his wife, and his seven-year-old daughter were abducted from their home and taken to the abandoned quarry near Tigard and tortured for two days. I'll never forget the crime scene." Hank said as they headed towards Renard's office.

"Yeah, I remember the case. Oleg Stark was a contract killer. He was suspected of murder in Illinois, Kansas, and Colorado," Renard replied.

Hank nodded, "This time it was personal. Jack Lambert was a business associate of Stark's who knew that Stark demanded to be paid in gold. Apparently, Lambert found out where Stark stashed his gold and stole it." Hank and Nick came to a stop in front of Renard's desk.

"It was a revenge killing," Nick added in, just to feel like he was contributing.

"That's why he got sloppy. He was angry. All the other people he killed he didn't give a damn about. Stark left a gold coin behind- that's how I knew it was him. He was tried here in Portland but sentenced to a California ADX facility in Pelican Bay," Hank continued.

"How'd he get out?" Renard questioned, voice frustrated, but not with the pair of detectives in his office.

"24 hours ago, Stark escaped. He was on a medical transfer when he got his chance. Broke the doctor's legs and beat two guards into a coma," Hank replied.

"Why didn't we know Stark escaped?" Renard demanded to know.

Nick perked up, "The bulletin hit California State agency first. They thought they had him trapped, so they didn't go wide with it until he was long gone. Now, this is from Stark's medical records; the convict displays signs of congenital analgesia, a rare genetic disorder that deadens the nerve endings, making it difficult to process pain. In addition, Stark's bone structure appears abnormally dense." He snapped the file shut, "Which basically makes this guy very unpleasant to deal with."

"What's Stark's connection to Judge Patterson, Vince Chilton, and Mary Robinson?" Renard came back around the desk and leaned again it.

"The Judge presided over the trial, Mary Robinson prosecuted the case, and Vince Chilton was the jury foreman who handed the verdict to the judge. Remember the time and date on the watch? 10:15, March 11th? That was the moment Stark was sentenced to 300 years in prison. I knew it was something, but I didn't put it together until I saw Mary Robinson's body." Hank explained.

"That would mean as the arresting officer he's coming after you next," Renard mentioned.

"I'm going take this bastard down."

"No, no, no. You're going into protective custody," Renard told him.

"I'm not running." Hank stared at Renard with fire in his eyes.

"He's already killed three people- I'm not about to lose a cop."

"He's killed a lot more than that!" Hank snapped.

"I'm not going to risk it and neither are you," Renard replied. "I understand why you want to get him. I'd feel the same way. But protective custody, that's my call, not yours."

Nick let the silence stew for a moment before he said, "Once Stark escaped, he had to move fast. We need to check for stolen vehicles, assault, and BEs from here to the state line." His voice was slightly hesitant, the anger making him worry.

Renard nodded, then pinned Hank with a look and jerked his head, his dismissal clear. "Well, get on it."

Hank stared at Renard a moment longer, then sighed and left. Nick left as well, quick in the wake of his Captain's dissipating anger **(2)**. As they headed back to their desks, Nick thought over what kind of case this may be. He was hoping it wasn't _Wesen_ because there had been a sudden influx of those and he really wasn't interested in dealing with another this week. There were still two he was trying to work off his desk. One was quickly becoming a cold case, which Nick hated, and the other was getting hotter again as they came across more and more leads.

Nick began looking up information, coming across medical records that caught his attention. "You know this guy's been shot three times and stabbed twice, right?"

"Yeah," Hank replied, voice clipped as he stared intensely at his partner. "I know."

Nick hesitated again, then spoke. "Hank... The Captain's just doing what he thinks is right."

"What's right for him is _not_ right for me," Hank snapped back.

Nick folded his arms in, leaning his weight on them. "Give us twenty-four hours, see if we can't get it done."

Just then, Wu came over holding a file. "I think I got what you're looking for. A sixty-eight-year-old man reported his car stolen from a rest-stop on I-5 near the California border. Perp fitting Stark's description drove off in his blue '92 Cadillac Coupe de Ville, license plate 807 IHO. If that caddy's in Portland, we'll find it."

_(Oleg drove through the lot and parked. He knew what he had to do and how much time he had to do it. The monkey hanging on the rearview mirror would suit his purposes fine. He hated to tear up a car that could still be useful, but it was better he torched while he could. He snapped the monkey up, skewing the mirror in the process, and stepped out of the car._

_He looked around, making sure no one could see him, then opened the gas tank and lifted the cap. He shoved the monkey into the gas line and lit it on fire. Quickly, he turned and left, catching sight of a lady rushing up the sidewalk in a heavy jacket. He hurried after her, "Hey, lady!"_

_The woman startled as her arm was caught, "What are you doing?"_

_"Helping you cross the street," Oleg replied._

_The woman nodded, "Oh, thank you, young man. You're very kind."_

_So, Oleg gripped her arm lightly as he walked with her across the street, holding out a hand to stop the cars coming their way. He timed it in his head, mentally counting down until the inevitable explosion. It happened just as they hit the other side of the street. When the lady ducked, he urged her forward, "You're driving. Let's go."_

_Then he raced off with the woman being dragged along behind him.)_

_Grimm~Grimm~Grimm_

"So," Nick began as he sat the requested coffee down on the desk. "What do you know about Stark?"

"What do you mean?" Hank asked, sipping the drink.

"Where's he from, does he have any family? Maybe we can get ahead of this guy."

Hank hummed, "You know, that was one of the weird things about him. He didn't seem to be from any place. No record of where he was born, no record of a family. It's like this guy just fell out of the sky."

Nick was suddenly reminded of the story of _Jack and the Beanstock_. Of the ogre who loved gold and kept a golden hen, who had become enraged when it was stolen and only stopped chasing Jack when it died. That sounded right on the money when put together with Oleg Stark. He'd have to do research later.

Wu came in, holding up a slip of paper, "Found the caddy. Or what's left of it." He glanced at Hank, "Blown up in parking lot across from a city rec facility; 20th and Belmont."

Nick stood as Wu headed off to gather his partner and the CSU. Then he turned to Hank, "Wait a minute, isn't that near your old place?"

"I lived a block away when I worked Stark's case," Hank confirmed. He stood and made to grab his jacket. "I guess this is my wake-up call."

Nick started to follow him out, prepared to remind him that he wasn't supposed to leave the precinct right then. Then, Renard rushed over and called, "Hank, you're not going anywhere."

"Captain!" Hank protested.

Renard shook his head, "Right now, the safest place for you is at the precinct." To Nick, he added, "Let's go." Then he walked off, not glancing back to see if Nick was following because he was correct in the assumption that Nick would follow, and do so quickly. Nick offered Hank a sympathetic glance, then followed Renard out the door.

The firefighters were still putting the car out when Renard rolled to a stop at the scene. Nick stepped out of the car, taking in the torched car and the scene around it. He and Renard walked up to the fire captain. "Any witnesses?" Nick asked.

"We had some people on the scene when we got here," the fire captain replied, glancing between Renard and Nick. "Quite a few of them in the park," he nodded to the grassy area across from the lot. "No one said anything to us."

"Did you decide on the cause?" Renard asked.

"It's obvious that someone meant to do this. No attempt to hide it. Open the gas tank, stuff something inside, lit a match, and walked away."

Wu rushed over, "Plates on the caddy are a match for the one that was stolen."

Renard nodded, "Then it's Stark." To the fire Captain, he added, "Thank you."

The man nodded, "You need anything else, let us know."

As Nick headed around the destroyed car to look for anything that could be of use, he felt the same eyes on him he had at Mary Robinson's house. He hesitated for a split second, then turned. There was nothing there. The dark-haired man sighed, then shook his head. He was just being paranoid, living up to another cop stereotype. In this, he felt he was justified, but he brushed the feeling off and turned back to the investigation at hand.

He couldn't do anything based on his feelings. It was probably nothing anyway.

_Grimm~Grimm~Grimm_

"Congenital analgesia," Nick murmured to himself as he began flipping through the pages of his Aunt's books. "Abnormally dense bones." He flipped through the pages one at a time, as fast as he dared to avoid ripping the aged paper. He noted three _Wesen_ it may have been, one that looked like a bull, akin to the stories of the Minotaur in Ancient Greece; a _Seigbarste_ , which seemed to fit the idea of an ogre as Nick had been thinking of before; and one that looked like a Jaguar from the Amazon rainforests.

Nick bit his lip, worried it between his teeth, and then sighed. God, he wished it was easier. He didn't want to keep relying on Monroe and Rosalee for help, but he didn't know anything. He was still so new to all of this and it killed him every time he had to rely on his lovers for information. He didn't want it to seem like that's all he wanted from them anymore.

Lately, it felt like every conversation they had was related to a case he was working on in some way or another. He hadn't spoken to Rosalee at all today and his visit to Monroe was work-related.

He sat back and sighed. He needed to get better if he was going to do the job his Aunt had given him. He needed to train his new power, get better at using it, and be more comfortable with it if at all possible. He ran a hand through his hair. _Well,_ he thought, _this seems like a good place to start._

With a glance down at the bottle depicted on the page, Nick decided he was going to get better. First things first, though, he needed to find this bottle. Lucky for him, his Aunt was a bit of a packrat and collected everything she could. He stood and headed over to the turn-about to look through the glass bottles there. He found the Spirit Oleander next to the _Siegbarste_ gift. He wondered if _'gift'_ was English or German in meaning as he took the bottle from the book and looked it over.

With that found, he headed over to the weapons cabinet and opened the doors, looking through them to see if he had a weapon to make transferring the _Spirit Oleander_ into Stark any easier. He found an old case, the lettering on the front too faded for him to read completely. He pulled it out and set it on the pull-out bed. Flipping the locks open, he lifted the lid of the black case and found a gun.

He spared a moment to be thankful he'd gone through the trailer and registered the firearms he'd found.

The gun was massive, one used to bring down elephants. It had been repurposed as what seemed to be something made to bring down creatures bigger than the person using the gun. The carving on the handle showed an ogre lifting a bludgeon high above his head and Nick hummed in thought. This would probably come in handy. He glanced at the clock on the wall and sighed. He put away the gun and closed the books, making sure to mark the three _Wesen_ he suspected for this case. Then be closed up the trailer and headed back home. Barring any traffic, he might just be early for once.

_(Several miles away, Stark ambushed a driver. He pushed the man up against the door hard enough to knock him out. Once he was down for the count, Stark grabbed his keys and wallet before getting in the car and driving away.)_

The drive was quiet and uneventful. He pulled up to the driveway and got out of the car, shutting and locking the door behind him, one of the few habits he'd gotten from New York he hadn't managed to break. He glanced around as he walked up the steps and let himself inside. Monroe had a last-minute customer and was driving out to get the clock, but Rosalee should've been home.

"Rose?" he called into the house, stripping his gun and badges to put on the side table and pulling off his coat. He set his keys down next to the gun and ventured further into the house. "Rosalee?"

His phone rang as he was heading into the kitchen. He picked it up and glanced at the caller ID. With a smile, he answered, "Hey, where are you?"

" _Hey, I'm on my way home with fresh ravioli. Where are you?_ " Rosalee answered.

"Ooh, I'm in the kitchen," Nick glanced at the cut vegetables on the countertop.

" _Good. Boil the water on the stove, I'll be right there,_ " Rosalee replied.

Nick nodded, "Will do. See you soon, love you."

" _Love you too,_ " Rosalee replied.

Nick hung up the phone and stepped up to the stove. He turned on the burner and watched as the fire lit, then picked up one of the carrot pieces and chewed on it while he headed back to the main room to grab his gun and badge to put upstairs.

He was distracted in his goal by a crackling sound, like glass before it shattered or nails on said glass. He walked to the back door to investigate but saw nothing.

He sighed, "Damn raccoons." He turned back, mentally reminding himself to put traps out so he could catch the creatures and move them back to the forest.

As he was walking away he heard wood splintering and suddenly the door went flying open with a bang on the connecting wall. Nick was tackled around the middle as the door swung shut and jammed into place. Someone growled as Nick was picked up and slammed to the wall, sliding down to sit on the table placed against it.

Nick reached for his gun instinctively, but it wasn't in the holster on his belt. It was still on the table next to the door waiting patiently for Nick to take it up to the bedroom for the night. Nick was struck across the face, the blow dazing him, and he cried out in pain. He went flying again, taking a lamp with him to crash on the floor. He groaned as he landed, the glass piercing his shirt and the skin of his back.

When Nick looked up, Oleg Stark stood towering above him, face dark as he snarled and hissed. "Where is he?" Stark demanded.

Nick knew immediately that Oleg wanted Hank. He shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs so he could make a gameplan.

Stark stepped closer as Nick gasped and panted. Stark's face crawled, changing suddenly as he demanded again, "Where is he!"

Nick couldn't keep the fear off of his face, eyes wide as he scrambled back and away from the danger. Stark reached forward and picked Nick up again, tossing him like he weighed nothing into the living room. Nick crashed into the coffee table, banging his head and a possibly dislocated shoulder. Stark came after him again, demanding for a third time, "Where is he?"

Nick shook his head again, looking into Stark's eyes and shuddering at the rage he saw. There was no humanity in Stark's eyes and that scared Nick more than anything. Stark hit Nick again, sending him flying into the kitchen to hit the counter, _definitely_ messing up something in his shoulder. In an act of pure desperation, Nick reached up and grabbed the knife, swinging wildly in hopes of hitting his attacker. Stark caught his arm and squeezed his wrist, twisting his hand until Nick dropped the knife. The second they made eye contact; Nick knew there was a genuine possibility he wasn't going to make it out alive.

" _Grimm_ ," Stark whispered, _woge_ retreated below the skin.

Nick was shoved against the counters again, but his time he grabbed the glass blender and swung it as hard as he could. He hit Stark's head, breaking the glass, but nothing happened to Oleg Stark. Nick panted, biting back a whimper. Stark swung his fist, catching the side of Nick's head. Nick stumbled back, falling into the doorway and sliding back. He curled in on himself instinctively, trying to protect himself from the pain, but Stark snag his shirt and yanked him up, only to punch his stomach then his nose. Nick heard the cartilage crunch and was very sure his nose was broken.

Nick's back hit the floor again, shoving the lass piece further into his skin and putting new wooden pieces in their place. He was yanked to his feet again and thrown into the coffee table. He groaned in pain, feeling his hip catch the corner. He crashed to the ground with a cough as the air was punched out of his stomach.

He heard the door open and looked up in a panic. Rosalee stood in the entryway, eyes worried, "Nick!"

Nick waved a hand, voice faint. "Run," he pleaded, sluggishly waving a hand, "run!"

Rosalee rushed off to the kitchen, Nick laid there trying to catch his breath and he struggled to the table by the front door where he'd left his gun. He heard the sounds of the knife rack being messed with, then sizzling and screaming. Stark came stumbling back into the room just as Nick reached his gun, so Nick grabbed it and let off a few shots. Stark went crashing back through the front window and raced off into the night.

Once he was gone, Rosalee ran from the kitchen into the living room where Nick sat dazedly against the wall with foggy blue eyes. "Nick," she called, trying to get his attention as she knelt next to his and put her hands on his face. She checked him over, her hands shaking, unsure if she should put her hands on his bleeding leg or leave it for the professionals because of the wood piece trapped inside it.

"Call Hank," Nick pleaded, panting from the exertion and the pain, "You have to call Hank." Then he slumped over and his head hit her shoulder as he passed out.

"Nick," she called again, "Nick, don't go to sleep."

But it was too late, Nick had already passed out. She heard the sounds of Monroe's car pulling in and was shouting for him before she even registered her mouth moving. "Monroe!" she shrieked, "Call 911!"

When Monroe came running inside, he gasped. Looking around the destruction of his house, his eyes went red, which only got worse as his eyes landed on his lovers. He came rushing over, phone in hand. "What happened?" he asked.

Rosalee's hands still shook as she cradled Nick's unconscious form, she sniffled and shook her head. " _Siegbarste,_ " she whispered fearfully.

Monroe covered his mouth with a hand, "Oh, no."

The paramedics showed up quickly, getting Nick rolled onto the gurney and Rosalee's minor cuts and bruises checked out before letting Monroe follow them to the hospital. The doctor gave them the full run down, "He has three bruised ribs and a dislocated shoulder to go along with a smiled concussion. Nothing was broken, however. He's very lucky."

They nodded their understanding. "Thank you," Rosalee whispered, moving a little bit closer to Monroe as the man put an arm around her shoulder.

Nick's Captain came walking over, "I've got units posted here at the hospital and outside your house, 'round the clock. I'll have an escort take you home."

Rosalee glanced up at Monroe and shook her head no, eyes wide with panic at the thought of leaving Nick. Monroe agreed, "No, we're staying right here."

Renard nodded, "I understand. Either way, this guy won't get anywhere near you, I promise."

"You know who did this?" Monroe asked, voice dark in a way it rarely was.

"Yeah. I've got every cop in the city looking for him." Renard looked back into the room, looking at his rookie detective who'd already gotten into so much trouble. "Trust me, he'll pay for what he's done."

Rosalee sniffled as Monroe nodded to the man. Renard left to go work on the case. Rosalee and Monroe stepped into the room after hearing Nick's soft call for them. Rosalee approached first, silently proving to herself that Nick was there and alive. He'd been so lifeless while he was unconscious, it had scared her. Regardless, she smiled at and placed a hand on the part of him that was uninjured. "Hey," she murmured.

"Hey," Nick smiled shakily, "Where's the ravioli?"

Rosalee sniffled, wiping tears away as she laughed and replied, "I spilled the water," with a small smile to match her black-haired lover's.

"Yeah, you did." Nick replied, "You probably saved my life." With a grunt of pain, Nick twitched his fingers.

Rosalee took his hand as her eyes watered.

"I'm sorry," Nick murmured.

Rosalee shook her head, "It's not your fault."

Nick looked at her with such love, Rosalee wondered what she'd done to deserve such a thing. Her past was riddled with men and drugs, she would've taken it all back for her lovers. She wanted to preserve the love she saw in Nick's eyes, wanted to protect him. Sadly, she didn't think this was something he could be protected from, only helped through.

"I'm so sorry, it is," Nick panted. "It happened in our house with you."

Rosalee shook her head again, "I'll be fine. So will the house. You need to rest." She brushed his hair out of his face, leaning down to whisper, "I love you so much." She gently pressed a kiss to his lips, gentle in the face of his injuries but no less loving and passionate.

Nick didn't look like he quite believed her, but that was alright. She had all the time in the world to prove her words to him. "Go to sleep. We'll be here in the morning."

The dark-haired cop looked like he wanted to protest, "The guy who came after me-"

Monroe came closer, shaking his head, "Later. Rest now."

Nick relaxed and nodded, "Okay." Then he closed his eyes, exhausted. When sleep finally came, it was swift and kind. Mercy from the pain of his fight.

Rosalee sniffled as she brushed Nick's hair back again. "He could've died tonight," she whispered, voice tight and watery.

Monroe wrapped her in a hug, "But he didn't. He's right here. You came in and saved him. Now, he's got the most protection he possibly good, all entrances of the hospital covered and us in here watching over him. It'll be okay."

Rosalee nodded but still broke down sobbing. Monroe held her tighter and let her break as much as she needed to. When she was done, he'd help put her back together. For now, he blinked back his own tears and held Rosalee as she poured her sorrow out of her heart and into the open to be dealt with at a later time.

He hadn't been there for his lovers when they needed him then, but he could damn sure be there for them now.

_Grimm~Grimm~Grimm_

Hank hadn't made it out the door before his phone was demanding his attention from him by ringing. "Nick, I thought you'd be having dinner at this time of night?" Hank asked, wondering why his partner was calling him.

" _It's Monroe. Nick wanted me to call you and tell you that that person you're chasing, Stark? He attacked Nick at home, nearly killed him. Nick said he was looking for you,_ " the other man said.

Hank nearly dropped the phone, he was so shocked. "Is Nick okay?"

" _He'll be fine. A few bruised ribs, a concussion, and a dislocated shoulder. He'll be alright. He also said something about making sure you didn't do anything stupid. So, you know, don't do anything stupid._ "

Hank chuckled, "He knows me better than that."

Monroe's voice was both understanding and unsure, " _Yeah. I'll call with any more updates._ "

Hank hung up the phone with a word of thanks. Wu then came rushing over with a worried look on his face. "Hank!" he called.

Hank glanced up, "Wu?"

"Stark attacked Nick at home. Must've followed him home sometime after he blew up the car," Wu informed him.

Hank nodded, anger flooding over him. "He was probably watching the whole thing, waiting for me. When I didn't show, he took my partner."

"Yeah, that's kind of what we were thinking," Wu agreed.

"Who was home?" Hank asked.

Wu hummed, "Nick was the only one there when he was attacked, but Rosalee Calvert came in later. If she hadn't come home, who knows?" Because everyone knew that Nick would _die_ before he betrayed his partner; work or personal.

"Is Rosalee okay?" Hank asked.

"She didn't get hurt," Wu replied softly, understanding of Hank's concerns.

Hank's anger overwhelmed him. "That son of a bitch," he said, beginning to walk to his desk, planning on going to confront Stark after seeing Nick in the hospital. God, he wanted this bastard _dead_. How _dare_ he go after Nick. He grabbed his jacket from his chair and started for the door.

Wu followed him, not to stop him, but to escort him. No one could stop Hank and the one person who had even the slightest success was currently laid up in the hospital **(3)**. Renard, however, was hesitant as he came in. "Hank," the Captain called.

"I'm going to see Nick," Hank replied without stopping.

Renard turned to follow him, "Hank, he'd going to be fine! You can't do him any good right now!"

Hank whipped around to pin Renard with one of the most venomous glares he could, "I'm _not_ staying here. This is my responsibility."

"And the safety of my men is _my_ responsibility," Renard replied. "Look, I want to get Stark as much as you do, but I'm _not_ going to lose another man doing it."

"He won't stop until he gets me!" Hank informed him sharply. "The only way nobody else gets hurt is if I do this alone."

"What if he just thinks you're alone?" Wu asked suddenly.

Hank looked at the Sargent curiously, "What are you talking about?"

"We set a trap with you as bait," Wu elaborated.

"How?"

"Roadblocks, spike strips, put units all around. We pick a place _we_ control."

"Ridge Crest Pass. A two-lane road, one way in, and one way out. Could work," Renard replied, looking between the pair.

"But I'll have to get him there," Hank pointed out.

"Stark attacked Nick for a reason. Not to kill him, but to draw you out," Renard replied. "He knows you're going to go see him."

"Okay," Hank nodded, "Then we'll let him think it worked." He shifted, preparing to turn and head out again, "Like I said, I'm going to see Nick."

With that, Hank turned and left the room, heading for his car in the parking garage.

_Grimm~Grimm~Grimm_

_The door broke open and Nick was tackled around the waist. He crashed into the table at the end of the couch. He was tossed into the coffee table. A_ Wesen _he'd never met stood over him and shouted, "Where is he?"_

Nick jerked awake at a sudden touch on his arm. Blue eyes flashed as he looked around before he spotted Monroe and relaxed. "Roe," he murmured. Then gasped as pain laced through his side.

"I don't know what you were dreaming about, but it couldn't have been good," Monroe murmured back.

Nick glanced around and spotted Rosalee asleep on the cot the nurse had dragged in. Monroe caught his attention again by taking his hand gently and letting Nick squeeze. "Who did this to you, Nicky?"

Nick panted for air, nose still a bit swollen and currently useless. He thought for a moment, trying to remember where his brain was foggy. "He was big. And he... has a rare genetic disorder. It would deaden the nerves," Nick closed his eyes, trying to remember. Something clicked in his head and he continued, "Abnormally dense bones."

Monroe nodded, " _Siegbarste,_ your basic ogre. That's was attacked you? There's one here in Portland?" Truthfully, he believed Rosalee when she mentioned it at the house, but hearing it from the mouth of a Grimm was different from hearing it from their girlfriend.

Nick nodded, trying to push himself further up the bed. Monroe helped him, then sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Oh, man. I just got a knot in my stomach. _Siegbarste_ are the worst. Fortunately, they're very rare, but if you ever run across one..." He glanced over his lover's bruised face. "Well, I guess you have."

"You've dealt with one before?" Nick asked.

"When I was a kid. I mean, I didn't deal with one directly. He came after a neighbor of mine, two doors down. Their son Freddy was a buddy of mine. This guy beat Freddy's dad to death in his own garage and then used his tools to...," Monroe cut off, not wanting to give Nick all the gory details. "Well, trust me. You're lucky to be alive." Monroe gently gave Nick's hand a light squeeze and sighed.

Knowing how close he'd come to losing Nick was something Monroe didn't want to experience again.

"He's after Hank," Nick murmured urgently.

"Hank? Why?" Monroe wasn't sure what a _Kehrseite_ could have possibly done to a _Wesen_ to piss them off so much.

"He put him in prison," Nick replied.

"Oh, yeah. That'll do it. These guys carry grudges to the grave. And usually, it's _your_ grave."

"I have to stop him," Nick decided.

"Good luck with that. Nicky, he already put you in the hospital. _Siegbarste_ are hard to kill. Not only do they have dense bones, but they also have thick skin and body odor that could stop a train."

"They're not immortal," Nick replied, shift again on the bed.

"No, they're not immortal, but to take one down you've got to get close enough to do it before they knock your block off." A thought hit Monroe right across the face. "Unless, of course, you've got some _Siegbarste gift._ "

"What?" Nick asked.

" _Gift_. The German word, meaning poison, which I always found kind of weird at Christmas, but that stuff is so rare. I mean, you could search your entire life and never find any. It literally grows on the Northside of trees just below the timberline in Romania or something."

Nick lashed back to the glass bottles in his Aunt's trailer, "I think I have some."

"Nicky, what kind of meds do they have you on?" he asked after a brief pause.

"From my Aunt," Nick explained. "What's it do?"

"It calcifies their bones, so you sort of shatter the ogre from the inside out. The trick is getting it into them."

Nick flashed back to the gun with the carving on its handle. "I think I know how to do that. There's a rifle, it's made for it. Could you go to the trailer and get it?"

Monroe hesitated for all of a second, "Um, okay. He said somewhat tenuously."

"You remember the trailer my Aunt left?" Nick asked.

Monroe nodded and Nick gave him the directions and the key off of his keychain. Monroe squeezed Nick's hand, then woke Rosalee up to sit with Nick and left. He hurried, rushing to get there quicker. He almost didn't want to go, knowing this trailer would be full of weapons and other items used to kill _Wesen_ , but Nick needed him to and he'd never let Nick down if he could help it.

He stepped out of his yellow car and carefully made his way over to the silver played trailer, clicking on his flashlight and checking for anyone around. He reached up and unlocked the door, pulling it open before he could second guess himself and stepping inside. He pulled the door shut behind him and flicked on the lights, getting his first proper look around since the night Nick had come out in the dead of night to look around it.

"Oh, man," he whispered as he looked around. His father's words from a long time ago whispered to him, _'Grimms are not good son. If you ever meet one, don't fall for its tricks. It'll kill you in a heartbeat.'_ "Dad," Monroe murmured to himself, knowing his father wouldn't hear, "I swear to god I'm doing the right thing."

He felt a chill go down his spine at the feeling of wrongness that pierced his mind. He decided not to spend any longer than he had to inside this space. "Okay, where is this," he whispered to himself, flashing his light around the glass bottles to his left. He turned the table, mumbling to himself, " _Siegbarste, Siegbarste_. No, that's not it." He rotated the table again and finally found what he was looking for.

He picked the bottle up and uncorked it, then brought the bottle to his nose. He took a whiff and then pulled it back quickly as the smell hit him, "Ooh! Yeah, that's gonna stick with me for a while." He set the bottle on the table and went over to the cabinet Nick has said kept the rifle. He opened it, looking at all the knives, swords, and other assortments of weapons used throughout the years. The combined history of it swept over him and he gasped, "This is..." He smiled, "Awesome!" He found the case for the rifle and grabbed it, setting it down on the table and opening the locks.

"This is a total freakshow," he whispered to himself as he began putting the rifle together. With a grin, he aimed it, pulling the trigger and breathing out. He sighed, "That is a big rifle," then dismantled the gun and took out the bullets.

As he looked the bullets over, he continued murmuring to himself, working as fast as he could, “Big rifle, big bullets."

He found a pair of tongs, nodded to himself as he used them to dip the bullets in the _Siegbarste gift_. He wrinkled his nose as the smell came over him again. He wasn't sure how many needed to be put in the solution, so he did the whole top row and figured that would be safe. Then he put the _gift_ away and packed up the gun, headed back to the hospital as quickly as he could manage.

_Grimm~Grimm~Grimm_

Hank got to the hospital in record time. He got out of his car, feeling the eyes on him, and headed inside, determined to make it up to his partner's room.

_(Stark watched the detective from a safe distance, waiting for him to leave again so he could finally finish his revenge and get on with his life. He grimaced, feeling the side of his face twinge with pain. He had to find that bitch too, the one that burned his face. This wasn't going to take long.)_

When he came into the room, a brunette lady was with him. Nick was asleep, the morphine dripping into the IV connected to his arm. The lady looked rumpled, tears in her eyes. She looked up upon Hank's entry. "You must be Hank. Nick's told us all about you. Monroe just went on an errand, he'll be back soon."

"I won't be long, I just wanted to see how he was." Hank stepped inside the room, offering his hand. "You're Rosalee?"

"That's me." Rosalee shot a glance at Nick, who murmured restlessly in his sleep. "They kept telling us to go home and get some rest, but we just can't leave him. They set up a cot, but we have to go home tomorrow." She wrapped her hands around her waist and sniffled.

Hank's anger burned as he watched the heartbroken woman try not to cry. "It's alright, Rosalee. I'm going to find the guy that did this."

Rosalee nodded. "I appreciate it, Hank."

"If you want to go and grab something from the cafeteria or something, I can stay with him a while." Hank offered.

Rosalee sniffled, "Yeah. Okay, I'll get something. I'll be back soon. His nurse's name is Faith, the Doctor should be coming around again soon."

"Hank," Nick murmured after Rosalee left.

Hank looked over. "Hey, Nick." He hesitated, "Man, I don't even know where to start."

"You can start by telling me what the hell you're doing here. You're supposed to be on lockdown," Nick replied sharply.

"Didn't work out," Hank replied. He sounded choked up, even to his own ears. "How are you doing?"

"It would make me feel a hell of a lot better if you were back at the precinct."

Nick looked so banded up and pitiful that Hank almost wanted to go if only to ease Nick's mind. But he couldn't do that when the reason Nick was so banged up was still out there. "It's alright, we're bringing Stark in."

Nick looked curious. Hank supposed that was good, Nick wasn't one to stay in bed all day, restless and adventurous as the younger was. It was good to see that curiosity in Nick's eyes. It was only tempered by caution, which was also good. "How?"

"Just throwing out a little bait," Hank replied.

"I think I know how we can bring this guy down," Nick told Hank hurriedly.

Nick's voice didn't rise above a whisper, something Hank was actually grateful for right now. He wasn't sure he could go through with the plan he had if Nick could raise his voice. "Captain's already got a plan. I'm supposed to lead Stark to a roadblock out on Ridge Crest. Everyone will be there waiting for him and it's done. Simple."

"Hank, listen to me," Nick protested. "This guy," Nick shook his head, "He's not normal."

"I know what I'm doing," Hank reassured the younger. "And there's something you don't know." He waited until his younger partner was looking at him in the eyes. He'd never said this to anyone. But Nick had nearly gotten killed over this, so he deserved to know. "During Stark's trial, I did something. He had a _good_ lawyer, all the jury needed was reasonable doubt and that monster was going to walk." His breathing trembled, unsure how Nick would take this information, "I followed through on a lead, a surveillance tape from a fast food joint across town. The guy looked _just enough_ like Stark to maybe give him an alibi."

Nick looked away, processing this information. Hank wanted to stop, but he had to keep going.

"It was bogus. Stark planted the guy himself. If one juror decided it was Stark, the whole case would've been tossed. I couldn't let that happen. And neither could Mary Robinson."

"You lost the tape," Nick stated softly.

Hank shook his head, "It somehow got misplaced on the way to the D.A.'s office. Neither of us ever spoke anything about it, but now you know too. I'm the last one Stark blames. So I'm going to end it where it started."

"You're going to the quarry instead of Ridge Quest."

"So at least no one else will get hurt," Hank confirmed watching as Nick began to protest. He started to back away, "So if anyone asks, you can say you tried to stop me."

Rosalee came in and Nick glanced at her like he was deciding if he should tell her or not. Hank left before he could. Nick called after him, "No, Hank! Hank!", and almost tried to stand before the pain reminded him not to.

He headed down the hall, only stopped when he heard his name being called and turned to find that Rosalee had chased after him. He stopped, "Rosalee?"

Rosalee glanced back to the room. "Look, I'm not going to be the one to tell you what to do, but please don't get yourself killed. I don't think Nick could handle it right now."

Hank paused, looking at Rosalee in surprise. "What?"

Rosalee's eyes flashed, "I don't want this guy to get away and neither does Monroe, but we can't do anything about it. You can. Don't be stupid. When you’re done, come back and let Nick know you're alive. He'll tear himself up over it until he sees you again."

Hank nodded, "Yes, ma'am."

Rosalee smiled, "Good. Now go get this bastard."

With her blessing, Hank _ran_ the rest of the way to his car.

_Grimm~Grimm~Grimm_

Monroe was getting out of his car when Nick called, "Hey, Nick."

" _Monroe, Hank's leaving now, you have to give him the gun._ "

"Nick, are you sure?" Monroe asked.

_"It's registered and everything. Please, 'Roe."_

"Okay." Monroe hung up and then waved as Hank came racing out, then rushed over with the case in hand. "Hank!" he called.

The man raised an eyebrow as Monroe held out the case.

"Nick wanted to give this to you, but you left before I got here. It's registered and everything. He thinks it'll help you."

Hank took the case and nodded, "Okay. Thank you, Monroe. I'll be back later. Tell Nick I'll be fine."

Monroe nodded back and glanced around, then headed into the hospital. He wanted to see his lovers, he wanted to reassure both of them that he'd be okay. He couldn't' do that out here.

_Grimm~Grimm~Grimm_

Hank noticed the truck following him immediately. He knew who it was and let the truck follow him all the way out to the quarry. He used his own car to block the road and jumped out of the car, taking the case with him. As he opened it up, one of the first things he's noticed was that the gun itself was beautiful. He put it together with a smile. Then loaded and aimed it at the trucking coming toward him.

He watched as Oleg Stark came calmly out of the vehicle. His posture was open and steady, not an ounce of nervousness in him. Hank felt anger surge through his entire being. "Stark!" he shouted, "You are under arrest, put your hands behind our head, face down on the ground!"

Stark kept coming closer. "I really like the place you picked. Lots of fond memories here."

"Shut up and get down!" Hank snapped back, coming closer with the gun. "Do you hear me?"

"You owe me five years," Stark replied slowly.

"I'm gonna say this one last time - get down on the ground."

"Let's get this over with." Stark began going back to his truck.

Hank shouted after him twice, "Stay where you are!"

When Stark simply got behind the wheel, Hank began shooting. First, with the shotgun that he'd pulled from his trunk, put the truck just kept coming. Hank grabbed Nick's gun and jumped out of the way. Stark's truck slammed into the side of Hank's car. Hank somehow managed to keep his feet and aimed Nick's gun at the man as he started coming closer. He shot all three bullets into Stark's torso and then huffed as it seemed not to slow him down.

The Stark's face went pale and his face crumpled. He groaned in pain, then collapsed, eyes wide. Hank stood over the body feeling vindicated and happy with the job he'd done. As he turned away to call in the body, he thought of Nick as the younger laid pale in the hospital bed.

Hank was glad Nick had such good caretakers. Maybe he didn't know about Rosalee's conversation with him or the murderous glint in Monroe's eyes as he handed over the gun, but that was okay. Hank did. It was with vindication that he checked Stark's pulse when the person on the phone asked and found him dead. He set the gun down, knowing well that he found to be found innocent. His gun was fired in self-defense. Nick would have it back by the week's end.

Hank turned away from the body and stepped several paces to the left, knowing there would be hell to pay from the Captain and likely Wu as well. But none of that mattered. He remembered the look in Rosalee's eyes as she told him to come back and let Nick know he was okay. He remembered the look in Monroe's eyes as he handed Hank the gun.

Hank hung up with the people on the other lone and called Nick's phone. "It's done."

 _"Are you okay?"_ Nick asked worriedly.

"I'm okay. I'll live," Hank replied, then glanced back at the body. "I won't lose any sleep over this. Thanks for the gun, it really did the trick."

_Grimm~Grimm~Grimm_

That night at the hospital, Nick found himself buried under three blankets in the absence of the space heaters that were his lovers. He smiled as he promised he didn't need any more blankets and thanked Rosalee as she pulled them higher to cover his chest. Nick hated sleeping on his back, but it would have to work for now. He sighed, listening to the gentle breathing of his sleeping partners.

He loved them a lot and he hated that they were going to keep getting dragged into these cases with him. Maybe though it wouldn't be so bad, he thought as he closed his eyes to sleep. As long as he could keep them from too much danger, then maybe this wouldn't be so bad at all.

He sighed again and closed his eyes to sleep. Tomorrow was another day and somehow he couldn't wait to find out what it held.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) A running joke for Monroe and Rosalee is that Nick is too used to New York traffic, so they have to drive him around until he gets used to Portland traffic again. Since my idea is that Nick has only been back in Portland for about two years pre-cannon, this is actually entirely possible.
> 
> (2) An important reminder from this series and my other stories that I've written and posted that Nick was abused as a kid. Part of the abuse is the aversion to things that either trigger or scare you. For example, Nick was abused by men both bigger and stronger than him. Renard fits both categories so to me it would make sense for Nick to be a bit wary around him.
> 
> (3) This is in part because Nick is a rookie detective and Hank feels responsible for him and in part because Hank sees Nick as a younger brother, therefore he's more hesitant to hurt him.


End file.
